


The Space Between

by Morning_Glory



Series: With An Edge And A Charm [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends with Benefits (sort of), How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Just Friends, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Other, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morning_Glory/pseuds/Morning_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her smile slips as she realizes this isn’t the Bucky she knows. He moves across the room almost quicker than she can follow, and she feels cool metal fingers tight around her throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [post](http://silvermorningglory.tumblr.com/post/81884804333/from-sebastians-instagram-just-another-day-at)
> 
> Contains a bit of violence and some sex. Nothing too graphic, but your mileage may vary, so proceed with caution if necessary.  
> As always, all mistakes are mine, characters are not.

 

She’s just set the glass of orange juice down on the table when she registers the almost silent footsteps approaching. Darcy turns with a smile to greet him, but the words die on her lips, unspoken. He’s wearing the old leather uniform. His face is hidden by the old mask and goggles. Her smile slips as she realizes this isn’t the Bucky she knows. He moves across the room almost quicker than she can follow, and she feels cool metal fingers tight around her throat.

She has no hope of fighting him off. She’s helpless against his skills and the panic is overwhelming-- as is the urge to struggle against his hold. She resists, knowing that staying calm is the only thing that might help her. It was one of the first warnings she’d been given when she started spending time with them, back when Bucky was recovering and still considered a medium-level threat. But that was years ago, and even then she’d never actually seen it happen. This is new territory for her, but an idea crosses her mind even as she starts to get lightheaded.

“Last request,” Darcy chokes out, knowing this is her only chance. She’s not a mission, so maybe, just maybe-- and there it is. The pressure around her throat loosens enough to let her suck in a few gasping breaths as he watches silently. She fights to calm down quickly, not wanting to push her luck and test his patience. “Two things. Please,” and it’s mostly habit to add it-- a lifetime of reinforcement that you end a request politely, but she can see his forehead wrinkle at the word, as if he doesn’t understand. Despite what’s going on right now, her heart aches that even simple politeness is foreign to him in this state.

“Please, take the mask off. I want to see your face.” After a moment of hesitation, he reaches up with his free hand and pulls the goggles off. Darcy can’t help glancing at the lower mask and sees the barest shake of his head. He’s given her as much as he will for that, which is already more than she has any reason to expect. He tilts his head slightly, as if prompting her to make her second demand. That he’s still wearing the mask is going to make this more difficult, but Darcy takes another quick breath and starts to press closer to him. She stills as she feels his fingers twitch against her throat, not enough to choke her again, but to remind her they are there.

“What are you doing?” His voice is low, rough, and she wonders if he even realises that he’s speaking Russian to her. She understands the language, and can speak it a little, but she’s never told him that. Not that it matters. The way things are right now, there’s no way she’d be able to get out a sentence without mangling it past any hope of translation anyway, so she keeps going in English.

“Just a goodbye kiss,” her voice is a thready whisper, and she can see the surprise in his reactions-- the way his eyebrows shift and his eyes get wide, even in the way his grip on her throat lets up just a little bit more. Knowing that this is her moment, her one shot at this, she moves forward, shifting to her toes and steadying herself with her hands on his chest. She presses her lips against his jaw, close to his ear, and she closes her eyes as she feels the uptick in his heartbeat beneath her hand. He surprises her by leaning into the slight pressure against his mask. Darcy turns her head just enough to get out a whisper without losing the contact. “I don’t blame you.”

He doesn’t respond, not in any way she can interpret, but his lack of negative reaction tells her enough to risk trying it again. She keeps her eyes closed as she drags her lips across his cheek until she meets the harder edge of the mask near his mouth. She stops and presses another kiss there, just as soft as the first, and hears his breathing stutter. “I _forgive_ you.”

Darcy shifts slightly so she’s right in front of him, looking up at his face. She holds steady for a long moment, feeling the tremors travelling through him as his eyes flick over her quickly, almost frantic, as he searches for something. She feels the hand at her throat flex and start to slide away. She reacts on instinct, grabbing his wrist with one of her hands to hold him in place. His eyes snap to hers and she holds his gaze, determined to prove to him she’s not afraid.

“I _love_ you, Bucky,” she sees the moment recognition returns to him, feels the shaky huff of his breath through the slits in the mask as she leans forward to press another kiss over where his mouth is covered. It’s just as brief as the others, but this time he reacts, sliding his free hand to grip her waist and keep her where she is.

“Darcy?” it’s weak, and so very lost. She releases his arm to bring both her hands up to his face, cupping Bucky's cheeks to force eye contact and keep him from turning away. Her eyes never leave his as she reassures him that she’s okay and asks him to stay. He hesitates long enough for her to repeat herself before he crumples against her, clinging like he never plans to let go.

Darcy takes the weight, slipping one arm around his waist to steady him as the other grabs the back of his neck and pulls his head down to rest on her shoulder. She turns her head so her lips are next to his ear, murmuring soothing words as Bucky curls into her with a muffled sob, shaking hard enough that Darcy has to shift her stance to keep them both upright.

“Everything’s fine. Whatever you need, I’m here,” she holds tight, encouraging him to let it out, offering whatever comfort she can until his breathing slows and he stills in her arms.

Eventually, Bucky shifts back slightly, looking at her for a long moment before whispering ragged apologies. His eyes are red-rimmed and slightly glassy as they search her face for, Darcy suspects, signs of distress. The fear and panic from earlier has already been buried, but she refuses to hide her concern from him. He leans in, resting his forehead against hers and closes his eyes as he thanks her.

“But never, _ever_ , try that again.”

“You don’t get to boss me around,” it’s a long-standing joke between them and it earns a weak huff of laughter from him. “We’ve been over this already. I’m keeping you, so we’re stuck with each other. You know I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Did Steve tell you doing that would stop me?” the question doesn’t come right away, but when it does, it takes a second for her brain to process the words. Darcy feels her lips twitch as she lets out a slightly hysterical giggle.

“Honey, is there something you need to tell me about you and Steve that he would _know_ to suggest a kiss might snap you out of it?” The teasing works as she hoped and Bucky snorts, some of the tension easing from his shoulders in a noticeable way. When he looks at her, she’s happy to see some of the darkness has cleared out of his expression.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” his voice is still weak, but more steady than it has been-- more like the Bucky she knows, and Darcy gives an inward cheer. He still looks haunted though, and she decides it can’t hurt to play along a little more, because the distraction seems to be helping him.

“Oh, you know I’d be taking pictures,” it draws a faint laugh out of him, but because she’s so close Darcy notices a hint of pink creeping up above the edges of the mask. “Are you actually blushing? That’s adorable.”

Bucky hugs her closer at the teasing and that’s when her awareness kicks in and takes notice. She can’t help the surprised squeak as her brain registers that it isn’t his belt that’s pressing hard against her abdomen. He tries to back away, muttering apologies and something about adrenaline, but Darcy tightens her arms around him to keep him from running. She understands-- he’s not the only one dealing with it. She waits for him to tilt his head back and meets his cautious look unflinchingly as she repeats her earlier words.

“ _Whatever_ you need, Bucky,” Darcy keeps her voice to a soft whisper, biting her lip as his expression shifts the same way it did when she first suggested wanting a kiss. She refuses to shy away from it though. When Bucky reaches up to tug at his mask, she puts her own hand over his to stop him. Feeling the heat in her cheeks, she leans into him to hide her face, knowing she won’t be able to say this if she looks at him. “Will it help you to make a good memory to overwrite the bad?”

“Darcy,” any steadiness he’d managed to achieve in his voice is gone as he growls into her hair. She offers to call someone else in if he’d prefer and he growls again, holding her tighter to him, gripping almost possessively. He brings one hand -the flesh and blood one, Darcy notes- up beneath her chin, and she resists against the light pressure for the space of a single breath before letting him tilt her head up to look at him again. “You don’t have to do this. Just tell me to stop and let me walk away.”

“This is me saying yes,” Darcy brings both hands up to his face again; to make sure his entire focus is on her. “Whatever you need from me, _yes_. But _only_ if you’re sure.”

Bucky hesitates for a moment before nodding. When Darcy asks again, tells him she needs him to actually say it so she knows she’s not taking advantage of him in a moment of weakness, he doesn’t hesitate to tell her he’s sure on a ragged whisper. And while this was definitely not how she expected her morning to go, this is about Bucky and what he needs right now. She drags her nails lightly across his mask as she slides her hands down, ghosting over the front of his uniform to slip between their bodies. Trembling fingers begin working on the fastenings of his pants and it spurs him into action.

Darcy gasps and makes a quick grab for his shoulders to steady herself as Bucky’s hands slide down over her ass to grab the backs of her thighs and lift. He pulls her legs around his hips and takes the few steps needed to back her against the nearest solid surface as she locks them around him. The cold of the stainless steel fridge leaches through her thin shirt and she yelps, clutching tighter to him. Pressing his body against her hard enough to keep her pinned in place, Bucky’s hands start to roam, seeking out bare skin through the gaps in Darcy’s pyjamas. She buries her face against the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of leather and Bucky for just a moment before she presses a soft kiss there and feels the shiver run through him. She does it again and it sets him off. He touches her with a kind of aggressive urgency-- hands careful, but not exactly gentle as they touch and stroke and grasp at her. When he speaks, it’s into her neck, muffled and desperate, breath wheezing slightly through the mask as he whispers her name over and over.

It can’t have been more than a couple of minutes before Bucky attempts to remove her shorts without putting her down, which mostly serves to frustrate them both. He gets nowhere with the effort and instead just tugs the material out of the way with another low growl. In his rush, he misjudges the necessary force and the sound of tearing fabric covers Darcy’s gasp. Bucky’s hands slip beneath the tattered remains still hanging around Darcy’s hips, shifting her to line himself up. He leans back and looks her in the eyes then, giving her another chance to stop, asking and waiting for her tell him yes one more time before he slides into her with a sharp thrust.

It’s been a while for her, and he’s not exactly small, which makes Darcy whimper at the slight sting as she opens for him. She doesn’t say anything, just grips him a little tighter as he finds his pace. It’s intense, but still on the good side of rough, and it doesn’t take long to start feeling good. The rhythm Bucky sets is relentless-- fast and harsh. He presses Darcy back harder against the fridge, driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts that make it difficult for her to catch her breath as he loses himself inside her. His breathing is jagged and shallow behind the mask, echoing his pace as he slides in and out of her, dragging her closer to the edge with every movement.

When he leans back to make sure she’s still okay, their eyes meet-- Bucky’s flaring with a dark heat and something else that Darcy’s mind shies away from trying to identify. She slides her hands up his chest, over the ridges of leather, and around the back of his neck. Tangling her fingers into his hair, Darcy tugs lightly, and he makes a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat as he drops his head forward against her and groans. She whispers in his ear, encouragements and reassurances, pressing kisses against his mask every time he leans back to look at her again.

Shifting her hips as best she can from her position, Darcy pushes harder against Bucky and draws a rough moan from him. His rhythm stutters as he presses himself against her with the full weight of his body and they both gasp, she into his hair, he against the skin of her neck. Moments later, the unexpected feeling of cool metal slipping between their bodies and stroking her clit is enough of a shock to set her off. Bucky’s free hand grips her hip even tighter and one, two, three hard strokes is all it takes before Darcy hides her face in his shoulder, biting down on the leather to muffle the moans and sobs as she writhes and squeezes around him. Her body shakes, trembling in the aftermath as Bucky thrusts into her all the way through it, his rhythm becoming erratic, frenzied, and she feels him pulse inside her with his release.

Darcy’s thighs are still trembling when he finally stirs, and that same look, the one she refuses to think about too deeply because they’re just friends, flashes in his eyes before he bends to touch his forehead to hers. He closes his eyes and slides his arms around her, clutching her close. They share a short silence as they both try to catch their breath, and Darcy spares a brief thought of gratitude for whoever invented birth control implants. It's better than dwelling on the lack of condom and why that thought doesn’t seem to bother her as much as it probably should. She feels his flesh-and-blood hand brushing back her hair, and opens her eyes to find him studying her face again.

Darcy reaches out to tug at the edge of the mask, sliding her hands over it as she tries to figure out how to get it off. Bucky releases the catch with his free hand and tosses it back over his shoulder without looking. His aim is still as accurate as ever and the dishes on the table rattle a little as the mask lands next to them without knocking anything over. Darcy and Bucky are too focused on each other to pay attention to that though.

“Are you okay?” Darcy keeps her voice low, not wanting to break the odd intimacy of the moment they’re having, and Bucky mutters back just as softly about that being his line. She watches as his eyes shift focus off to the side, staring at the fridge door behind her as his mouth opens and shuts a few times. It’s like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to start, and Darcy narrows her eyes. She has a pretty good guess what he wants to say. “If you even think about apologizing right now, I will end you.”

Bucky snorts, but he knows better than to dismiss her use of that tone on him, and keeps his mouth shut. It doesn’t stop him from aiming a decent approximation of what she calls his sad puppy look at her though. That look has been her kryptonite for as long as she’s known him, but she’s adamant about not letting him apologize for this, so she stares back without a word, trying to resist the urge to give in.

“What are the chances I’ll be able to get into that fridge any time soon?” the silent standoff is broken by Steve, and Darcy clenches her eyes shut and bites her lip as Bucky’s full-body flinch is hard enough to feel it where they’re still connected.

“Dammit, Steve. You should know better than to sneak up on a trained assassin,” Darcy hears the sharp edge of her voice, pitched almost an octave higher than normal due to that little shock, and feels one of Bucky’s hands clenching on her waist. She takes a deep breath to calm back down before trying again. “I’m not even gonna ask how long you’ve been there. Just, give a girl a little warning next time, yeah?”

“You seemed a little preoccupied. I didn’t want to interrupt,” he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh and Darcy fully intends to glare at him, but when she actually opens her eyes to look, she can’t stop herself from gaping like a fish for a moment. Steve grins at her from his seat at the table and makes a show of taking another bite of toast.

“Are you seriously stealing my breakfast right now?” her voice cracks over the words and of all the things that have happened this morning, this one gets under her skin the most. It’s a symptom of everything settling back into the normal swing, she’s sure of it-- the calm after the storm, where her brain has time to think about just how much danger she was actually in. It makes it nearly impossible to figure out if she’s amused, which is her normal reaction when Steve is being a little shit, or if this is the proverbial straw that’s about to bring her down. A dull ache settles in her chest, along with the sudden, inexplicable, feeling that she’s somehow betrayed Steve, and Darcy carefully starts to disentangle from Bucky, who still hasn’t said a word.

When he realises what she’s trying to do, Bucky helps where he can. He carefully pulls out of her -crushing Darcy’s valiant attempt to pretend she wasn’t completely aware of how he was still half-hard inside her- but the barely there creak of leather doesn’t quite cover the soft, wet sound that accompanies the movement; a sound that seems extra loud in the heavy silence of the kitchen and made extra awkward by the fact that Steve is still watching them. Risking a glance up, Darcy sees that Bucky’s cheeks are just as pink as she’s sure hers are.

Bucky tucks himself away before locking his hands on her hips, steadying her as she unwinds her legs from around him and lowers them to the floor. Darcy winces a little at the shift, as much from the uncomfortable sensation that she’s _leaking_ as the actual physical withdrawal. Desperate to regain some composure, Darcy hides behind Bucky’s bulk and tries to fix her pyjamas as best she can.

There really isn’t much that can be done, but she uses one of the tattered sections to clean up a little before tugging the shorts down as far as she can without the risk of them falling off. Even with the adjustments, Darcy’s still a little exposed and she fidgets with the fabric until Bucky grabs her hands to make her stop. She notes the way he hunches over her, curled in to shield her from view as much as possible and feels an intense rush of gratitude.

She catches Bucky’s eye and checks with him again that he’s actually okay, mouthing the words so Steve can’t hear, to offer what little privacy she can. He manages a small smile and gives her an almost undetectable nod in response. Darcy leans up to press a kiss to his cheek before slipping around him to head towards the door. She’s hyperaware of what kind of appearance she makes at the moment, with her shredded clothes and messed up hair, sticky and reeking of sex. She makes the choice to pass by where Steve sits, still watching them, and drinking her orange juice now.

“Ass,” Darcy reaches over as she passes by and grabs the toast from Steve’s hand as he lifts it for another bite. She mumbles a vague threat -mostly teasing- in his direction, around a mouthful of toast, about her breakfast being replaced by the time she’s out of the shower and walks away with as much confidence as she can manage. She feels both of them watching every unsteady step -she suspects she’ll be walking funny for at least a couple of days- until she disappears through the door.

* * *

Darcy is barely out of the room when the mood shifts.

“I didn’t realise you two were,” Steve trails off without completing the sentence, and Bucky winces at the carefully neutral tone. An overwhelming sense of guilt makes Bucky keep his eyes lowered, unable to look at Steve.

“We’re not. We’ve never… God, Steve, _we_ agreed she was off limits,” Bucky doesn’t want to see the betrayed look that Steve is sure to have.

They’d both fallen hard for Darcy early on, but since she was already with someone, they let it go and explored other options. When they eventually all ended up single at the same time, nothing really changed. The friendship grew stronger as they all spent more time together, but Darcy showed no preference of one over the other, and before either Steve or Bucky could get past volunteering to step aside for the other, things unexpectedly started developing between _them_. Not wanting to risk the tenuous new thing they had with each other or the friendship with Darcy, they’d both agreed to step back and not pursue it.

It takes a long moment of struggle to get the words to come out coherently, but eventually Bucky manages a stilted explanation of what happened, from the nightmare that left him trapped inside his own head, to how Darcy brought him back, and the aftermath. His hands shake as he finishes the retelling, thoughts catching on all of the things that could have gone so wrong, things that shouldn’t have happened. She’ll never say it, but he knows he hurt her, scared her. He shouldn’t have accepted her offer, no matter how much he wanted to. Hell, he hadn’t even considered protection until after the fact, as he watched her awkwardly try to clean up using the clothes he’d practically ripped off her.

Steve’s hands squeezing his shoulders draw Bucky out of his spiralling thoughts. When he reluctantly looks up he’s surprised not to be met with disappointment. Instead, Bucky sees understanding, acceptance, and what looks a lot like concern.

“We can talk about it later,” Steve slides one hand to the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a careful hug. Bucky clings tightly for a few seconds as the thought that Steve’s far too forgiving for his own good crosses his mind. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky shakes his head at the soft question, stepping back to put some space between them. He watches as Steve moves around the kitchen, grabbing the supplies to make more toast. After a few moments, he can’t help but make an observation. “You watched.”

“Some,” Steve gives him a hesitant glance out of the corner of his eye before focusing far more intently than necessary on putting the bread into the toaster. The sudden redness of his ears is an interesting development. “Maybe it’s time we renegotiate that agreement.”

This time it’s Darcy’s voice that breaks the long silence.

“I’m not seeing my breakfast,” she comments from the doorway. Her tone is light, teasing, and Steve snickers as he nudges Bucky out of the way to grab the juice from the fridge.

No comment is made about the redness of her eyes or the way her neck is covered by her sweater and scarf as she sits down at the table, pushes the discarded mask off the morning paper and acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are at least 2 more stories planned for this series that will be written as time and inspiration permits.


End file.
